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Chapter Twenty-Two
Michael had not been able to get Lady Wenton’s words out of his head. He realized that he had acted in a spoiled manner, expecting to have what he wanted with no repercussions. When he realized that he had allowed for his feelings toward Lydia, and her feelings in return, to go too far, he knew that he needed to harshly break off his relationship with her.
Dread filled his breast as he rode in his carriage to her townhome. He had no desire to break her heart, to hurt her in the way he knew he would. He expected tears, had expected shouting. He had not expected her to draw out the deepest, darkest parts of him.
Her face was indignant. She challenged him with her whole body, drawn up and tense, fists clenched. He had not expected her to fight so hard against his decision, which shook his resolve.
“My lady, this is not what I wanted either,” he said, which apparently was the worst thing to say. Tears welled in her eyes with frustration.
“Then change your mind,” she said, her voice low and angry. “Change your mind, let us be happy together.”
“I cannot,” he told her, emphatically. “Lydia, I plan to announce the end of our engagement at the duchess’s ball next week. It’s the last event of the Season. I believe you should tell everyone that you have had another offer and chose to break off the engagement yourself.”
“But I do not have another offer!” she cried.
“You have had plenty of attention from Lord Wycliff and Mr. Ashcroft. I’d be more than happy to speak to them for you before the ball next week.”
“I do not wish to marry either one of them though,” she said, feeling slightly defeated. “I do not know them.”
“Be elusive, then. Tell people you prefer another suitor. Let thetonvie for your affection. Any other reason you want to break it off.”
She dipped her head, as though hiding the tears spilling down her cheek, she nodded slowly.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” she told him, and curtsied low.
Like a knife piercing his heart, her cold response cut him deeply. He knew that she did not mean to wound him; she was merely trying to protect herself from the pain he was inflicting upon her. Yet, he knew that if he lingered any longer, only more damage would result to both their tender souls.
He bowed back to her. “Until next week, my lady.”
* * *
Knowing her mother and sisters had heard every word, Lydia struggled to keep tears from pouring down her face as Michael left the room. When he opened the door, she expected them all to tumble in, ears pressed to the door. Yet, the doorway was empty as he walked through, leaving the image of his stiff back imprinted in her mind.
Her mother and sisters did not return to the room until Lydia had sank to the couch, covering her face with her hands, pressing her fingertips to her eyes to keep from crying. However, when Trinity wrapped her arms around her, she sobbed uncontrollably.
“This is for the best, my dear,” her mother said, patting her back. “He is not the man you should have for your husband.”
“I know this in my mind,” she hiccupped, “but my mind will not tell my heart.”
“Time heals all wounds,” she said. “All you need is time.”
“I do not have time!” she cried, trying to pull away from Trinity’s embrace. “I must marry!”
“This has been a tremendous amount of pressure on you,” her mother continued, watching her as she stood, stepping away from their touch. “Your sisters have had incredible success due to your sacrifice. We shall survive, just yet, because of you. I think we can all afford to let you have the time you need to recuperate.”
“My trial is not yet over,” she whispered, turning away. “I must attend the ball next week and face ridicule by society when the duke ends our engagement.”
“You anticipate ridicule, but you may yet be met with open arms by any number of suitors. Being engaged to a duke, even falsely, has given you immense intrigue in the eyes of society. No one has to know the pretense.”
“Yet, if someone does indeed make me an offer, I have to accept. There is no certainty that anyone else would ever propose to me. I am two and twenty years of age and I have not had a single legitimate offer.”
“You do not have to accept any man that you do not wish,” Martha said, beckoning her back to the couch.
“If we end up destitute, I’ll sit by your side sewing factory clothes for workers,” Marcia offered.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Lucretia quipped, shoving her. “Such a hopeless romantic. Wouldn’t be very much fun when you couldn’t afford bread for your table.”
Lydia gave them a condemning look.
